I rescind every smarmy comment I made about Fred’s tendencies to sear plastic to the top of the stove and live on corned beef and cheese. Last night, in a display of deep devotion–and probably a desire to avoid certain destruction because I was very irritated that I have to work ALL THE TIME–he made a lovely and perfect supper. Drawing on the best techniques of his bachelor days, he baked a perfect, flaky, tender potato; assembled a salad topped with perfectly boiled eggs; and garnished the whole thing with cheese and sliced apples. And as I sat working on a grant proposal, wondering why I was working past 6 p.m. instead of cooking, he also brought me a plate of sliced cheese, crackers, and sliced apple–lovingly presented, perfect complements to each other.

Tonight he is making French fries and hamburgers, as I get to indulge in a tiny bit of writing. It is wonderful to be loved so much.